


happier

by clawstoagunfight (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Sterek Secret Santa, some feels snuck in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 20:36:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3147785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/clawstoagunfight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Christmas Eve, and Derek doesn’t remember a time that he’s been happier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	happier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [only_one_word](https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_one_word/gifts).



> I just realized that I never posted my secret santa fic for [apolloandellipses](http://apolloandellipses.tumblr.com/) on here. So, here you go!

The loft bustles with the late-night Christmas fever. Ornaments, garland, mistletoe, and wreaths fill the space, taking away the cold edge of brick and concrete and giving Derek’s home a warmer feel. The lights on the large Douglas fir catch Derek’s eyes as they twinkle against the moonlight filtering in through his windows.

It’s Christmas Eve, and Derek doesn’t remember a time that he’s been happier.

Scott’s in the living room, putting up the last of the decorations with Kira and Lydia. Derek watches them for a moment, smiling to himself a little, before the smell of ginger catches his nose. He heads into the kitchen, following the scent, and sees Stiles at one of the counters, pouring a glaze over some sort of cake.

“That smells good,” he says.

Stiles jumps a little, making the glaze splatter out in a glob as he throws Derek a dirty look over his shoulder. “Geez, man. Warn a guy. If you make me mess this up, you’re not allowed to have any.”

Derek lets out a small, soundless laugh and steps closer, leaning his back against the counter beside Stiles and crossing his arms. He looks over at the cake—something that looks like gingerbread with some kind of fruit filling and the glaze atop it. “What is it?”

Stiles’ eyes flit to Derek’s for a moment before he looks back to the cake at hand, setting the now-empty bowl of glaze down and reaching for the nutmeg and a grater. He smiles softly as he starts to garnish the dessert. “It’s called _piernik_. It’s something my mom always used to make for Christmas Eve dinners. She always said that she grew up helping her mom make their traditional twelve-course Christmas Eve dinner, but this cake was her favorite, so I thought I’d try my hand at it.” Stiles sets the nutmeg and grater down before he turns to Derek, pressing his hip into the counter. “I just hope it doesn’t suck.”

Derek shakes his head, the smells of the cake wafting up, almost good enough to make him salivate. It reminds him of building gingerbread houses with Laura, of how the kitchen growing up always smelled of allspice and the clove candies his dad liked. He feels a pang of longing so strong it’s almost visceral, and before he really thinks about it, Derek reaches out to set a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like he should comfort Stiles, that he must be feeling like how Derek is right now, lost in painful nostalgia. He gives Stiles a small, encouraging smile. “I’m sure it’ll be great, Stiles. I’m sure your mom would appreciate that you even wanted to make it in the first place.”

Stiles looks up at Derek, and Derek’s suddenly reminded of how much Stiles has been through in such a short time. He’s eighteen now, a senior, but still there are moments when he looks vulnerable, like a child, and this is one of them. Stiles nods his head slowly, his face ridding itself of the vulnerability, before he smiles back at Derek, lifting the side of his lips. “Thanks, man. I, uh, think I needed to hear that.”

Derek squeezes Stiles’ shoulder and rolls his eyes. “Don’t get used to it.” Derek steps away from the counter and turns to leave, but Stiles’ hand on his arm stops him.

“Hey, Derek, actually, I, ah—” Stiles takes his hand away when Derek turns back to him. He reaches into his back pocket and Derek is more than a little surprised when Stiles pulls a small, rumpled present from it. The wrapping paper is choppy and crinkled, like Stiles forgot there was something in his pocket and sat on it one too many times, but when he holds it out for him, Derek doesn’t really care at all what it looks like. He takes it in his hand gingerly, as if afraid this is all some big joke, or like he just wants Derek to take it to someone out by the tree, but then Stiles speaks again. “I know it’s not much, but I wanted to give you a little something.”

Derek looks at it for a long moment before he slowly starts to pull at the colored paper. It feels solid in his hand, but he has no idea what it could possibly be.

When he finally has the gift open, it’s the last thing he expected to see.

It’s a small picture frame, and inside of it is a wallet-sized picture of his mother. She’s smiling at the camera, fresh faced and young—Derek vaguely thinks that it must be her senior picture from her time at BHHS. He feels his eyes start to burn with emotion he never allows himself to dwell on, gives in to the impulse to raise the picture to his face to take in all the details. She was so beautiful. The picture captures the vigor and life that she always had about her, how much of a presence she always had. He closes his eyes, the grief almost overwhelming, but its tinged with good memories, of the ghost of his fingers clutching at her Wolf’s fur, of the feeling of her arms wrapped around him and the scent of her soap.

He opens his eyes to Stiles watching him carefully. “My dad was going through the archives at city hall and came across that. I—um, might’ve accidently sneaked it out to make a copy of it for you. I hope it’s okay? I didn’t mean to upset you or anything, I just thought that—”

“Stiles,” Derek cuts in, not unkindly, but loud enough to get the other man to stop talking. “It’s really—I—thanks. This means a lot to me. It was really thoughtful.” Derek swallows hard. “I didn’t…have a picture of her.”

Stiles smiles sadly at Derek before he reaches out to place his hand over Derek’s on the frame. “I know, Derek. But now you do. And now your mom can spend Christmas with you and the rest of the pack.”

Derek looks at him for another long moment before he hears Scott calling for Stiles from the other room. Stiles grins sheepishly before he ducks out of the room, leaving Derek alone to finish warming the rest of the food.

Half an hour later, everyone sits around on Derek’s couch or on the floor, plates filled to the brim with a hodgepodge of potluck dishes—Melissa’s glazed ham, Lydia’s sweet potato casserole, Derek’s roasted root vegetables, Deaton’s super-secret special green bean casserole, Kira’s mom’s biscuits, and the bowl of canned corn Scott nuked in the microwave.

Lydia puts on _It’s a Wonderful Life_ and they all watch as George Bailey grows up, each feeling akin to his struggles in their own ways. Sometime during the movie, Kira and Scott ask for dessert, so Stiles gets up and slices a piece for everyone.

Derek tries to focus on the movie, but the first bite of the cake steals his attention. The fruit and the ginger are a perfect complement, the glaze adding just enough sweetness. Derek eats the whole slice and is glad to see he’s not the only one making their way up from the couch or floor for seconds.

They finish the movie with full bellies and barely any leftovers. At some point, someone turns on Christmas music on the radio and suddenly Derek’s being pulled onto the makeshift dance floor by Lydia and Kira. He dances for a while, feeling the weight of the picture of his mother in his pocket and the smile stretch across his face. This is what he needed; to be reminded that he’s not alone, that he never has to be alone again. It’s a good feeling, one that Derek knows he’ll think back on when the people and warmth are gone from his loft and wish he could keep it there forever.

Lydia leaves first, pressing a kiss to Derek’s cheek and pulling away with a smile. Scott and Kira offer to help clean up before they go and the two of them start on washing and drying the dishes. Stiles offers to help pick up the loft, which is in slight disarray from the party. They clean together in silence for a short while, both of them listening to the water splashing in the kitchen and Kira’s giggles every so often.

Stiles stands near the stairway, by the bookshelf with little knickknacks from Derek’s life, when Derek finally steps over to him. He pulls the picture of his mother from his pocket and sets it on the middle shelf, toward the center. His fingers linger on it, adjusting the frame until he knows he’ll be able to see his mother’s young, smiling face from almost anywhere in the loft.

Derek turns his head toward the other man. Stiles is looking back at him, and Derek sees the twinkle of the lights from the Christmas tree reflecting in his eyes. When Derek speaks, his words come out softer than he expects, almost a whisper in the stilly space. “The cake was really good. Your mom would be proud.”

Stiles’ cheeks color slightly, but he doesn’t look away. Stiles blinks at Derek and smiles, softly, gratefully, like Derek saying that was all he really wanted for Christmas.

Derek can’t do anything but smile back.

 


End file.
